


The Knight and The Rabbit

by RobinLeStrange



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: ...and a friend like Nick!, Caught in the Act, Coitus Interruptus, F/M, Fancy Dress, Fluff and Smut, Gloves, Memories, everyone needs a friend like Ilsa, randy hedgehogs, shagging alfresco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 14:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21282896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLeStrange/pseuds/RobinLeStrange
Summary: Spin-off based on a few Fictober prompts, the first two of which were posted previously and start this story.When Ilsa discovers Robin's secret TV crush she decides to hold a fancy dress themed birthday party and tells Strike in no uncertain terms who he needs to come as, but he's in for a shock too when he sees Robin's outfit.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	The Knight and The Rabbit

**Prologue**

“There’s just something about him,” said Robin. “He’s so broad and hairy and masculine…I sooo would!” she giggled.  
  
Strike’s ears pricked up as he walked down the hallway after visiting the Herbert’s garden for a cigarette. He felt a prickle of jealously run down his spine. Who was this bloke?  
  
“…and grumpy, too fond of his booze and comes complete with a crazy ex,” Ilsa gently admonished.  
  
_Hang on! What the fuck?_  
  
“All that black leather and smouldering…mmm!”  
  
_Eh?!_  
  
“You have crazy taste in men Robin. At least this one’s fictional…we really need to do something about your Musketeers obsession!”

* * *

  
_**Three weeks later…**_  
  
“Told you it would be worth breaching your comfort zone,” Ilsa toasted Strike smugly and winked.  
  
When she’d told him her birthday party was to be fancy dress he’d groaned aloud. When she’d insisted that he hire a Musketeer costume for the occasion - Athos, to be precise - he’d point blank refused. She’d worn him down though. Typical Ilsa. Still, Robin had barely taken her eyes off him all evening.  
  
“Yes, I admit it,” he rolled his eyes good naturedly at her, “You were right.”  
  
“I always am,” she replied. “Now…what are you going to do about it?”  
  
_Well, that is a question and a half_, thought Strike. He may have registered Robin’s admiring and surprised glances throughout the course of the evening, but he hadn’t been able to fully enjoy them. He’d been far too preoccupied with trying not to let his jaw hit the floor.  
  
Both Ilsa and Robin had insisted on keeping their costumes secret. Ilsa had donned a Harley Quinn outfit complete with dip-dyed hair and contact lenses, whilst Robin had arrived dressed as Jessica Rabbit. Her hair had been blow-dried into sleek, bouncy waves that fell over one eye, and she was wrapped from bust to toes in skin-tight, corseted, shimmering red satin, with high heels and long, purple satin gloves to complete the look. Ilsa and Nick had exchanged a highly amused glance at the expression on Strike’s face when she’d walked into the kitchen, removed her coat and dropped it casually on to the back of a chair.  
  
Frankly it wasn’t just his jaw that Strike was having problems with.  
  
And now Ilsa was suggesting he did something about the situation, and she was right, but…  
  
He gave a hefty sigh, popped another bottle of Doom Bar and headed to the garden for a cigarette.

  
* * *

In the sitting room, Ilsa had finally managed to extricate Robin from Nick’s over-enthusiastic younger brother, Spanner, and was whispering conspiratorially to her in a quiet corner.  
  
“You must admit I did you a favour,” she grinned. “Anyone would think it was _your_ birthday!”  
  
Robin flushed and grinned back, then gave a frustrated sigh.  
  
“Only problem is between Spanner commandeering me, and all your friends from Cornwall wanting to catch up with him, I haven’t had a look in all evening.”  
  
It hadn’t been for want of trying, she thought. She’d been totally floored when she’d entered the kitchen to see Strike dressed from head to foot in a black, leather Musketeer costume and had had to concentrate very hard on removing her coat and draping it artfully over one of the dining chairs in order to give herself a few seconds to regain her composure.  
  
“Well, it’s just as well your fairy godmother has arrived,” winked Ilsa, “He’s just headed out to the garden for a smoke…and he’s alone.”  
  
She topped up her friend’s glass of wine and nodded in the direction of the door.  
  
“Go on…off you go!”

  
* * *

Strike was leaning against the side of the house, taking extra care whilst lighting a cigarette not to burn his leather gauntlets. As Robin approached, she wondered for the umpty-ninth time since meeting him, how he was able to make what was basically a pretty revolting habit look so incredibly sexy. He felt her eyes on him, turned and nodded as he took a first long, satisfying draw on his cigarette, his own eyes travelling the length of her body as he exhaled.  
  
“Finally caught up with you,” she grinned, taking a sip of cold, white wine, “You’re a very popular man this evening.”  
  
“You’re not doing so badly yourself,” he retorted good-naturedly, “I thought Nick was going to have to physically restrain Spanner when he saw you in that outfit. I’ve seen less enthusiastic Labradors.”  
  
Robin laughed. “Yeah, he did remind me a bit of Rowntree when mum dishes up a roast. He’s a nice guy though, harmless enough.”  
  
She noticed a flicker of disgruntlement cross Strike’s face. “In abstract,” she continued hurriedly, “He’s a bit young for me.”  
  
Strike frowned. “He’s the same age as you?”  
  
Robin saw an opportunity and took it.  
  
“Yes, but it’s not really about the numbers is it? Life experience, outlook…all much more important than a date on a birth certificate.”  
  
She saw him conceal a smile as he reached for his beer and took a long gulp.  
  
“So…Jessica Rabbit then? Bit different.”  
  
“I couldn’t be arsed with anything that required wearing a wig, so I made a shortlist of famous redheads…”  
  
Strike raised and eyebrow. “Go on.”  
  
“Dana Scully – too boring, Poison Ivy – too revealing, Rose from Titanic – too frilly, Joan Holloway from Mad Men – sadly I don’t think I’ve quite got the tits to pull that off…”  
  
She saw Strike blush in the light from the kitchen doors and knew her last comment had probably had the desired effect. She was correct – Strike was indeed pondering the fact that he’d never hear the word ‘tits’ in the same way again…amongst other things. Robin put down her now empty wine glass, feeling a pleasant buzz through her veins as she took a step closer to Strike.  
  
“Anyway, what about you…Mr Musketeer? I like this…” she indicated the floppy, half open black shirt, with a wave of her finger. “It reminds me of that time when I’d just started working for you and had to tell you to do your buttons up properly before you left the office.”  
  
He glanced sideways down at her, remembering, his breath briefly stuck in his throat.  
  
“That was the first time you called me Cormoran, instead of Mr Strike,” he murmured, a hint of a smile washing over his face.

“You remember that?”

He took a deep breath, this was his chance...now or never.

“You'd be amazed at what I remember where you're concerned,” he drawled, exhaling a final stream of smoke before grinding out his cigarette in a nearby foil ashtray.

“Really?” Her eyes were wide, appraising and he noticed her shiver, although it wasn't really cold.

Standing behind her he shrugged off his leather jerkin and wrapped it around her shoulders, not stepping away but resting his hands there.  
  
“Really.” He confirmed.  
  
“Such as?”  
  
“Well…I remember the big things. How I felt when you agreed to carry on working for me at the end of the Landry case. I’d wanted to ask you for days, but knew I couldn’t afford to pay what you deserved and staying wouldn’t make any sense for you…”  
  
“Best bad decision I ever made,” Robin replied, softly.  
  
“And when you drove me to Devon and I realised it was first time I’d felt comfortable being driven by someone else since I’d lost my leg.”  
  
He could sense the pride radiating from her at his words and smiled.  
  
“And all sorts of things between the Donald Laing case and your wedding…” he didn’t go into detail. It had been a difficult time for them both, “…but it’s the small things that matter most sometimes, I think.” His tone had dropped a notch deeper and huskier than usual.  
  
“I remember seeing you in that green dress in Vashti and literally not knowing where to look or what to do with myself,” he continued.  
  
She laughed. “Yeah I was a bit bewildered by your reaction at the time.”  
  
“I remember really noticing your Yorkshire accent the first time I heard you say bugger…and I remember…”  
  
He paused for a moment, if he continued, she would know for certain how he felt about her. There would be no going back. She sensed his hesitation and moved slightly backwards, just barely leaning against him.  
  
“…I remember the way your lips felt against my fingertips when I fed you toffees in the car on the way to Corby.”  
  
He heard her sigh softly and moved his hands down to her waist.  
  
“I remember the way you smelled of roses when you were in my arms on the staircase at Swinton Park…”  
  
She crossed her arms over her stomach and rested her hands on his, pulling them further around her.  
  
“And…” he bent his head to whisper in her left ear, “most of all, I’ve always remembered the way you tasted of tea and chocolate when I accidentally kissed you in the hospital car park after you visited me and Jack.”  
  
They stood for several seconds, lost in reminiscences, and then she turned in his arms, and raised her stormy blue gaze to his dark green one.  
  
“I probably just taste of sauvignon blanc this evening,” she breathed, eyes twinkling.  
  
“I like sauvignon blanc…” he mused, faux thoughtfully.  
  
“Better than Barolo?”  
  
“Maybe…although I’ve not had sauvignon blanc for a while…” he was clearly teasing her now, unable to keep the smirk from his face.  
  
“Perhaps you need reminding then,” and she reached up, curling her hand around his neck and pulling him down to kiss her. Their lips met softly at first, but without hesitation. He allowed her to make the first move to deepen the kiss and she parted her lips slightly meeting his tongue with her own, tasting beer and smoke and groaning aloud as he pulled her closer, leaving her in no doubt how aroused he already was.  
  
She slid her hand down from his neck and he felt her silk covered fingertips trails down his chest until they reached the first button low down on his shirt.  
She pulled back, composed but slightly flushed and grinned up at him wickedly.  
  
“Do you fancy making another memory with me?” she asked, glancing at the Herbert’s shed in the far corner of the garden.  
  
His eyes widened in surprised. “Are you serious?!”  
  
“My flatmate’s home, and it’ll take an age to get back to Denmark Street. I know for a fact that the door doesn’t lock and there’s a workbench which I’d guess is just the right height…”  
  
She felt his cock twitch against her thigh and slid her hand slowly lower resulting in a sharp intake of breath from Strike. He glanced back through the kitchen doors to check no-one was watching, and pulled her over to the shed, keeping watch until they were inside with the door shut.  
  
“God, I want to touch you,” he rasped, biting off one of the leather gauntlets before tugging off the second and throwing them both to the floor. Robin was doing the same with her silk ones, and they swiftly joined his before she tugged him towards her, away from the window in the door of the shed, that lit the tiny space with moonlight.  
  
His leather jerkin that she had been wearing slipped off and he moved his mouth from hers, kissing over the contours of her cheekbone, tracing the curve of her earlobe with his hot tongue before nibbling and sucking a path down her neck and over her collar bone and shoulder.  
  
She whimpered with pleasure as her hands travelled down his chest, snaking through the thick dark hair there before fumbling with the few remaining buttons to give her greater access. She pushed the front of the shirt aside and bent her head to graze a dark pink nipple with her teeth, making him growl in response.  
His hands glided up her hips and over her waist, thumbs brushing tantalisingly over the swell of her breasts encased in tight scarlet satin. Even through the corsetry keeping the dress in place he could feel her nipples respond eagerly to his touch and longed to take them into his mouth. She wanted to feel that deliciously hairy chest against her skin too and she reached behind and released her zip by a few inches.  
  
Strike took a step back momentarily, eyes feasting on her newly liberated breasts before cupping them and caressing her nipples with his thumbs. He heard her sigh and looked at her, their eyes locked together as he continued his ministrations, the intensity of his gaze causing her to involuntarily writhe against him. She hoisted up her dress and boosted herself up onto the work bench, wrapping her legs around him and grabbing his arse to better enable her to grind her hips against his rock-hard erection.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Robin…I’m not going to last five minutes if you keep that up…” he rasped, taking a deliberate step backwards as he lowered his mouth to claim first one nipple, then the other, sucking deeply and laving with his tongue across the sensitive peaks, whilst his hands began travelling up her thighs, pushing the remainder of the dress out of the way, Robin wriggling to allow him to slide it up over her hips.  
  
His hand drifted over her mound, feeling the heat radiating from her centre, the dampness of the flimsy lace that covered her. His mouth returned to hers for another long searching kiss, pressing his fingers against her, pulling away to look at her briefly, questioningly, waiting for a sign that she was happy for him to continue.  
  
“Oh God yes…please…” she gasped as he stroked her gently through the delicate fabric of her knickers before gently pulling them down, tracing their path with hot wet kisses down her thighs and then back up them. He wanted desperately to taste her, to slide his tongue in the luscious folds of her sex and lose himself in her pleasure, but the angle wouldn’t allow him to stay in position anywhere near long enough for him to give her what he wanted to. Instead he contented himself with a single long, slow lick up her drenched seam, before returning to her mouth, relishing her moan as she tasted herself on his lips. He moved to suck gently on her earlobe as he whispered, “I promise you we’ll revisit that idea later, when I can give it _much_ more time and attention.”  
  
Robin had no objections. She was so turned on she was starting to think she’d climax before he’d even touched her. She began to fumble with the fastenings on his belt and trousers, both of them breathing heavily. His mouth was hot around her nipple again, her concentration faltering as he swirled his fingers back up her thigh to her entrance and slid one deep inside her. He stroked her slowly, twisting and sliding, adding a second finger and grazing her clit with his thumb as he did so, forcing her to bury her head in shoulder to muffle her cries of pleasure.  
  
He was so hard for her he didn’t have a clue how he was keeping it together, but he could tell she was close, and he was shocked when she took a huge shuddering breath and gripped his wrist, causing him to immediately cease what he was doing.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
“More than okay.”  
  
He sighed with relief. She looked ravaged in the best possible way and he was looking forward to finishing the job. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly.  
  
“Good,” he whispered, “Then what is it Robin? Tell me what you need?”  
  
She covered his hand with her own, turning into it to drop a kiss in his palm as she closed her eyes.  
  
“You,” she murmured. She pulled him closer, pushing down his belt and trousers, freeing his impressively hard, hot cock and stroking it slowly as she watched him intently and he watched her right back in a way that stoked a confidence that she hadn’t realised she possessed.  
  
“I need you…inside me,” she faltered briefly, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it herself, “…and I want you to make me come.”  
  
“Fuck, Robin…I…” he pulled her towards him instantly, and she wrapped her long, pale legs tightly around him as he guided his cock to her entrance and slowly, steadily eased his entire throbbing length into her.  
  
They were still then, holding each other, breathing steadying. Strike not wanting to continue until he knew he would last longer than a few seconds, Robin savouring the heat and hardness of him. Then, suddenly, she realised she could hear voices.  
  
“Listen…no, really listen.”

  
* * *

  
“Listen…no, really listen.”  
  
Ilsa paused, bin bag in hand and indicated to Nick to do the same. After several seconds, he broke the silence with a whisper.  
  
“What are we listening for?”  
  
Ilsa frowned at him. “Did you not hear that noise? It sounded like it was coming from the shed.”  
  
“I didn’t hear anything, probably a hedgehog.”  
  
“Hmmm,” Ilsa reached for some more empties as Nick pottered around extinguishing citronella tealights. Then it happened again and this time they both heard it.  
  
“I told you,” hissed Ilsa, “There is something…or someone, in the shed.”  
  
Nick rolled his eyes affectionately at his wife.  
  
“Alright I’ll go and check it out.”

  
* * *

  
Robin and Strike were doing their best to remain still and silent in the corner of the Herbert’s shed, but it was…challenging…to say the least. Both were trying to stifle giggles and every tiny movement either of them made sent a shock of sensation through them both.  
  
As Nick’s footsteps approached, Robin realised that the shaft of moonlight filtering through the shed window was just catching Strike’s back. She wriggled further on to the workbench, grabbing his backside and pulling him closer, deeper, rocking almost imperceptibly against him until he was forced to bury his head in her hair in a desperate attempt to muffle a strangled groan.  
  
The light was suddenly blocked by the figure of Nick, peering in the window. He couldn’t see the furthest corner of the shed from his viewpoint, but just as his hand alighted on the doorknob, he spotted something on the floor – a pair of instantly recognisable leather gauntlets and alongside them a pair of long, purple satin gloves. He chuckled to himself as he turned and called to Ilsa.  
  
“Nothing to worry about, love. Like I said, just a couple of randy hedgehogs.”  
  
He heard Robin’s unmistakeable snort of laughter as he headed back to the kitchen.

* * *

Inside the shed, Strike silenced Robin with a scorching kiss, his talented tongue rapidly turning her giggles to moans as his hands slid over her body to her hips. He was rocking with her now, increasing the pace of his thrusts, and he lifted her, slightly altering the angle of his cock to hit exactly the right spot inside her whilst allowing just enough for him to reach between them and gently massage her clit. He realised then and there that he would never get enough of watching her face as he drove her closer and closer the precipice, or of the sounds she made when he tipped her over it, murmuring his name and a string of most un-Robin-like expletives as she came.  
  
He held her tightly as she floated down, his movements a steady rhythm until he could hold back no longer, and finally gave into his own release with a shout of her name that made them both very glad that Nick and Ilsa had retired back inside behind their triple glazed doors.

* * *

  
Later, in a taxi back to Denmark Street, Robin raised her head from Strike’s shoulder and grinned impishly at him, sitting next to her in the back seat, fingers entwined.  
  
“So, was that memorable enough for you, Mr Strike?” she teased.  
  
He leaned over and kissed her softly.  
  
“I think that particular memory will be burned into my brain for ever,” he murmured hotly into her ear. “But if you’d like we can always make some more when we get home...after all I did promise to revisit certain activities that weren't practical in a shed.”  
  
He smiled as he heard Robin's sharp intake of breath and felt her fingertips tighten slightly on his thigh. “That..." she replied, "...sounds like an excellent plan."


End file.
